As the first Hogsmeade weekend drew near, Ron was still stubbornly refusing to talk to Cho. "If she admitted she cheated, I would be OK with it," he said, stabbing his pork chop hard during one dinner.

Dudley felt that Cho hadn't cheated exactly, but distracting Ron like that had been a bit of a dirty tactic. Despite much pressing, Ron had refused to tell them what Cho had said to distract him. Judging by the way Ron had blushed, however, Dudley had a few shrewd ideas.

Dudley had another extra lesson with Snape.

"Sit, Dursley," Snape said, after he entered. Dudley did as he was told.

"So, we have gone through how the Death Eaters formed, and their actions during the First Wizarding War," Snape began, without preamble. "I hope you remember."

"Yes, professor,"

"We'll see—who were the original Death Eaters?" Snape said.

"Erm … Cantankerous Nott, Avery …"

"Which Avery," Snape said, sharply.

"Julian Avery I,"

Snape nodded.

"… then there was Jebediah Mulciber, Reuben Lestrange … erm …"

"It is important you remember all that I teach you, Dursley, or I am wasting my time."

Dudley couldn't see what was important about knowing the names of long-dead Death Eaters. Perhaps if he encountered one of their relations, he would be wary?

"Snyde!" he said quickly.

"Yes, Sixtus Snyde," said Snape. "There was also Rosco Rosier and Quentin Travers,"

Dudley mentally cursed himself for forgetting Travers, he was one of the few to still be alive, along with Cantankerous Nott and Julian Avery I—the last of the original class of Death Eaters.

"So, I suppose you're wondering why so many wizards and a few witches join the Dark Lord?" Snape said, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"Power," said Dudley. "And … hatred? They hate muggles and muggleborns, and You-Know-Who would let them kill them?"

"Partially," Snape said, giving a nod. "There was also coercion, fear and hatred … no necessarily towards muggleborns, but to others,' he said, sounding a little disgusted.

"But yes—power was the reason for many. The Dark Arts open the path to many powerful spells and enchantments which other wizards refuse to use. Yes, you can become a great wizard indeed using the Dark Arts, and of course, that was appealing to many witches and wizards. His current Death Eater Percival Pyrites joined for that reason—he is an academic, the Dark Arts and the power they hide fascinates him," said Snape.

"And, as you said, hated of muggles and muggleborns," Snape continued. "Many of the old, pure-blood families have a deep-rooted belief in blood supremacy and a hatred towards muggle and muggleborns. The Malfoys, the Blacks, the Lestranges, the Notts—they are the worst of the lot. Cantankerous Nott was an academic—he wrote a book called the Pure Blood Directory. In it he lists what her terms The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Twenty-eight families that are still pureblood. Some of those names are Death Eaters, some are followers … and yet haven't reached the rank of Death Eater yet. Others are not … not every pure blood family is a purity fanatic. Your friends, the Weasleys, feature," Snape said, giving a small nod. "As do the Abbotts and the Macmillans."

"Who else is on it, Professor?" Dudley asked.

If he asked a question in potions, Snape would either insult him or refuse to answer. Here, though he could still be sneering and sarcastic and biting, he did answer Dudley's questions.

"I will loan you my copy of the book," said Snape.

Dudley felt a little disappointed—just what he needed, even more reading.

"But, families listed who are notable supporters of the Dark Arts include the Blacks, the Burkes, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Notts, the Rosiers, the Rowles, the Travers' and the Yaxleys," said Snape. "Other families … have some supporters of the Dark Lord and the Dark Arts, but some who aren't—the Flint's, two of them are Aurors. The Parkinsons dabble in Dark Magic but all hold respectable positions in the wizarding world and they have never fully sided with the Dark Lord. The Carrows—you may remember Alecto and her brother Amycus are Death Eaters?"

"Yes, professor,"

"Well, most of the family aren't," said Snape. "The twins are unusual in that regard. Do you notice anything else about the names I just told you … or what the list is lacking?"

Dudley shook his head.

Snape sighed. "Pay more attention. There are many Death Eaters who did not appear. The Lees are among his most loyal supporters—they are half-bloods. Pyrites is a half-blood. Crabbe and Goyle aren't pure. What does this mean?"

Dudley hesitated a few seconds thinking. "Half-blood is ok?" he guessed.

"Let's just say, as long as the wizard or witch embraces their wizarding side, he will accept half-bloods," said Snape.

"Why isn't his name on the list—Riddle's?" said Dudley.

Snape smiled, a small, mocking smile. "Did Dumbledore never tell you of this heritage?"

Dudley shook his head.

"The Dark Lord is only a half-blood," said Snape with a smirk. "Ironic, he hates muggles, yet his father is … or was, muggle."

"Do his supporters know?" asked Dudley.

"Of course not," Snape said, lapsing into a faint sneer. "He plays up that he is a pureblood. Now, we have covered power, let's discuss coercion," said Snape. "What ways could the Dark Lord get others to do his bidding?"

"Threats—threaten to kill them or … kill their families," guessed Dudley.

"Yes, using family members is a popular trick of the Dark Lord. He did it a lot during the First Wizarding War. He also uses it to ensure loyalty. Joining the Death Eaters is a lifelong commitment. One of the few exceptions was our old friend Cantankerous, who was too old and infirm to be of use to the Dark Lord," said Snape. "He might also use the imperius curse. Very tricky to tell who was operating under their own will and who was forced. Many Death Eaters claimed to be under the imperius—it kept some out of jail.

"Like Malfoy," Dudley spat,

"Yes, Lucius Malfoy claimed imperius. As did Abaddon Nott, among others. Some, like Cantankerous Nott and Corban Yaxley were never even accused of being Death Eaters."

"Can't they just use veritaserum?" Dudley asked. "Professor,' he added, quickly, as Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Veritaserum is a relatively new invention," said Snape. "And it is unreliable. The person tells the truth … but it is what they believe to be the truth. Which means what, Dursley?"

"Erm … if their memory has been modified, they believe that will be the truth?"

"Or confundus, or forgetfulness potions or even head injury. Veritaserum is useful, but has its flaws," said Snape.

"Coercion is one of the most dangerous weapons in the Dark Lord's arsenal, even more so than imperius. Most people would obey if their loved ones are in danger," Snape fixed his gaze on Dudley for a few seconds. "Did you know Professor Dumbledore claims love is the most powerful magic there is?"

Dudley shook his head. It seemed like the sort of bizarre theory that Luna Lovegood would come out with.

"It can also be very dangerous—threaten a man's loved ones, and there is little he would refuse to do," said Snape.

Dudley sensed there was deeper meaning behind Snape's words, but he couldn't think what that might be.

"We will end there," Snape decided. "Before you go, it is the Hogsmeade Weekend."

"Yes Professor."

"There is no evidence that the Dark Lord is planning an attack, but he might. Keep that in mind, Dursley," said Snape.

Mundungus

Mundungus waited on the outskirts of Little Hangleton. He had done as Dumbledore had asked, given information to a pair of thieves that there was gold and jewels just waiting to be plundered in the Riddle House. They had fell for it-hook, line and sinker. Now, he had to wait and observe for any Death Eaters who may turn up. Half an hour had gone by, it didn't seem like any would. Mundungus didn't know what Dumbledore was planning, but he felt irritated. He had arranged to buy a flying carpet from Ali Bashi-he felt certain he could sell it abroad and make a tidy profit. But now he had to wait in some little muggle village for his pair of thieves to discover the house was empty.

To kill the time he walked along the lane down to Great Hangleton, just in case there was something of interest. You never knew-he had once accidentally found the home of a reclusive wizard in the middle of Exmoor who had a fine collection of 15th century silver coins. That had been a good earner.

The lane, however, was overgrown and looked largely unused. A little way down the lane was a shabby, derelict shack. Mundungus let out a dissastisfied snort. The place had clearly been unoccupied for years ... or had it. What if ... and it was a big if. What if someone had left something behind? It was possibly, and he still had time to kill.

He walked forward, not bothering to keep silent as there was nobody else around for miles. He hesitated, complacency could get him killed.

Mundungus wasn't anywhere near the magical talents of Dumbledore or even Snape and McGonagall, but he was an expert thief and knew how to detect magical defences and break through them. He cast a non-verbal spell—there were traces of magic here, but from long ago. Most of the defences were to deter muggles—but there was also an anti-apparation jinx in place.

Keeping his wand held out, he stepped forward. The shack was filthy, covered in decades of dust and grime. Thick cobwebs covered the walls. It was clear nobody had been inside for years. He could sense however, given the faint traces of magic which were growing stronger, that there was something hidden here. The room he in—a small dining room/living living, with just a broken table and a dust covered chair, was empty. He went to a small room to the side and wrinkled his nose. There was a filthy mat on the floor—he couldn't even call it a mattress—in a room little bigger than a broom cupboard. On the wall, just visible under decades of accumulated grime, were handdrawn stick figures.

"Scourgify!"

Some of the grime vanished. There were three stick figures, clearly drawn by a child. Merope. Morfin and Daddy.

Mundungus frowed. He didn't know if it was Morfin or Merope who lived here, but he felt sorry for the little mite—been cooped up in a room this small and, he frowned again, there were thick locks on the door.

Moving on, he opened the room next door. It was bigger and mostly bare except for a dirty bed and a shelf. On the shelf were jars of pickled snakes—each covered in dust, as was the rest of the house. There was nothing else in the room—no toys, no clothes. Just the filthy bed and the jars of long-dead snakes.

Mundungus wasn't the smartest person in the world, but he could tell this was a bad place and that bad people had lived here. At the third and final room, he could sense magic. The door had caved in long ago, its hinges rotted with age. That was a good thing, Mundungus could detect the faint traces of some nasty curse for anyone who touched the door. Inside, the room was the largest of the three. There was no bed, but instead there was a single wooden table with a gold ring on top.

Mundungus got bad vibes. He knew just walking in there would be a bad idea. He cast every detection spell that he could. In addition to the curse on the wrecked door, the floor was enchanted with an incendio spell. There was also some sort of curse on the mirror hung on the wall, but what, he couldn't tell.

He stepped back, ready to flee at any moment. "Reducto!"

The curse shattered the mirror and immediately a large shrieking filled the shack. He screwed his eyes up and jammed his fingers in his ears against the sound. Before him, the room filled with flames and Mundungus fell backwards.

"Silencio!" he cried.

He was shocked when the screaming halted. He could barely believe it had been that simple. The sound had shook him to his core. He felt it would have driven him insane if it had continued. The mirror was shattered, he had had no idea what that might have done to him, but he knew it would have been something bad. The fire seemed to be activated by anybody entering the room. Tricky, and dangerous—but he wanted that ring. It must be very valuable.

On the plus side, as powerful as the magic was, Mundungus sensed the traps had been set by somebody with relative inexperience. The witch or wizard had overlooked the silencio and reducto charm as a way to get through. He approached cautiously, focusing on the magic. This was a defence similar to one he had encountered before, just with the added twist of the incendio charm. Perhaps something simple

"Accio ring!" to his surprise, the ring soared towards him, he held out his hand to catch it, but, it didn't fly to the palm of his hand. It twisted in mid-air, landing directly on his finger. Then, the ring's final trap was revealed.

Pain. Mundungus felt pain beyond any he had ever felt before as his hand started to wither and die before his hand. It blackened, it shriveled—becoming grey and dead. Mundungus could only watch, screaming as the curse on the ring killed his hand.

He had to act fast—already it was spreading up the rest of his arm—the skin turning black and dead as the curse ate its way through the cells of his arm.

Reducto bounced off the ring and hit him in the face. He fell to his knees, dropping his wand. His jaw was shattered by the reducto. He grabbed his wand and, hand shaking, tried to cast a severing charm on his hand—if he could only remove the ring. He cried out as his spell cut into the flesh and bone, but already the curse was spreading across his chest and across his heart.

Mundungus screamed and fell to the floor face first as the curse on the ring ate away, withering his body away until all that was left was a twisted, blackened husk of a man.

Dumledore

Dumbledore stared at the withered body of Mundungus Fletcher. The ring must have carried a deadly curse. It looked like it had aged him by 100 years, killing all of the cells in his body and withering him away. A brutal end to what was a decent man. He and Mundungus had known each other for quite a well. Dumbledore had always liked him—he wasn't very reliable, but he had many amusing anecdotes and was loyal.

He had grown concerned when Mundungus Fletcher didn't return from his mission. Dung might be reliable, but Dumbledore couldn't see any reason for him disappearing unless something had happened to him. According to Snape, there had been no change in Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore thought that if Voldemort caught somebody after a horcrux, he would be worried. But there was no sign that he knew. So, Dumbledore suspected that Mundungus had run afoul of whatever was guarding the horcrux rather than Lord Voldemort himself.

Mundungus would be buried. He didn't deserve to just rot here in this dirty, grimy hovel. But first—the ring. Dumbledore stared at it, and as he did so, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to slip it on. The ring had great power and great secrets. Only by wearing it could he unlock what was within. He bent down in the dust and reached for Mungdus' hand, planning to take the ring and slip it on.

"No!" he drew his hand back suddenly. The ring had killed Mundungus Fletcher. It was too dangerous to wear—ever. And yet … his hand drew towards it as he thought of the power it contained. Should he use the ring? It might be the key to vanquishing Lord Voldemort.

Once again, Dumbledore forced himself to draw his hand back. There was some sort of enchantment on it. Something that filled anyone nearby with the overwhelming desire to try it on. It was taking every ounce of Dumbledore's self-control to ignore the tantalizing lure of the ring. A lesser man, with less will power, would have fallen already.

This needed destroying, and, above all, it should not be taken anywhere near Hogwarts in its current state. It was too much of a risk.

He raised his wand. Severus Snape had destroyed the diary with fiendfyre. He suspected that the diary was actually a Horcrux. Would it work on the ring too? Fiendfyre was dark magic, but Dumbledore knew the spell. He could pull it off, even though he didn't like using it.

Did You-Know-Who know when a Horcrux was destroyed? Dumbledore didn't know. There was so little written about the subject, and nobody, as far as Dumbledore knew, had ever created more than one. Yet he suspected Lord Voldemort had made many—at least the ring, the locket, the cup and the diary. There could be more, if he had found anything of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindors.

Dumbledore gave a start. Almost absent-mindedly, he had started reaching for the ring once more. It had to be destroyed—he wouldn't even touch it in its current state. And that meant, there was no way to remove it from Mundungus Fletcher's hand.

There was no other choice, it had to be destroyed here. It was regretable, he wanted to give Mundungus the send off he deserved, but the ring had to be destroyed here. He couldn't risk touching it-it was too dangerous.

He just hoped that his theory was correct and that Lord Voldemort didn't know when one of his horcruxes was destroyed.

He stood back to the entrance of the house and cast fiendfyre. Even though this was another step to ensuring Lord Voldemort would be defeated once and for all, he felt sat that his friend had died.